


Yours Is The Light

by mydogwatson



Series: One Fixed Point: 2020 Advent Stories [3]
Category: Sherlock TV
Genre: Feelings, M/M, Modern, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27862102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: Trying to find a new normal.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Series: One Fixed Point: 2020 Advent Stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035588
Comments: 24
Kudos: 66





	Yours Is The Light

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ты - свет](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483551) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> Hi, folks. Day 3 and the prompt is Star. Our boys are trying.  
> Hope you enjoy this. In this bleak midwinter, reading and writing about these guys are all that keeps me going some days. Love hearing from you.

Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born: you are my sun, my moon and all my stars.  
-cummings, e.e.

Sometimes 221B became too stifling.

The air would grow thick and it would become impossible to speak or even breathe. Neither of us could sit at times like that, so we wandered, separately, from room to room. I would pick up the kettle to fill it and put it down again, empty. He would fiddle with the microscope, put a slide in, glance at it fleetingly, then take it out and toss it aside. One broke. I said nothing, did not even give him a look. But he swept the bits away carefully.

As happy as we both were to be there again, together again, [and we were happy, really] there were still nights when it all became too much. At least, that was how I saw it. Sherlock never said anything, but he always agreed to my suggestion that we take a walk. Even on a cold winter’s night like this one. He wrapped up in the damned Belstaff, twisted a scarf around his neck, and pulled on a pair of leather gloves; it was all so familiar and yet everything seemed somehow new at the same time.

In fact, those words pretty much summed up life at the moment.

Familiar and new.

We walked quietly down the stairs, so Mrs Hudson wouldn’t be disturbed. It was late enough that even the area around Baker Street was quiet, save for a few people scurrying towards the tube station, desperate to make the last train. We walked and did not talk at all until we had passed Madame Tussaud’s. It was cold, but bright, under a surprisingly clear canopy of stars and an icy white moon.

“I used to look at the stars,” Sherlock said finally.

Lost in my own thoughts, I only hummed in response.

“When I was...away.”

That was how we had come to refer to those three years. It sounded better than “when you were dead.” Not that we talked about it all that much. Just like we avoided mentioning my own abruptly ended engagement and return to Baker Street. Maybe it would be better if we had those conversations; sometimes it felt like we were being crushed by all the things we didn’t say.

Would I ever be brave enough to start the conversation?

For now, though, it seemed as if Sherlock wanted to talk.

“The stars look different depending upon where you are on the planet,” Sherlock said. “I didn’t know that until then.”

“Yeah, latitude or longitude. Or something.” It had been a long time since I paid that much attention. “I thought you were busy saving the world,” I said a bit snippily. “Surprised you had time to star gaze.” Immediately I regretted my words. What an idiot you are, John Watson. Sherlock was actually willing to talk and I have to act like a complete arse. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

He paused, glancing at me briefly and then walked on. “Does it count if I were only trying to save my own particular part of the world?” He sounded genuinely curious.

Okay. Those words deserved some serious thought, not just a snappy comeback. But I was not sure if a freezing midnight on Marylebone Road was the time and place to think about it. “Of course it counts.” 

Suddenly, I remembered a conversation I’d had with Mycroft not long after Sherlock’s return. I did not make a habit of talking with that man and never had. But he surprised me in Speedy’s while I ate a full cooked breakfast. Sherlock had taken off very early to annoy Lestrade and I already had several testy texts, wondering when I would see fit to join them. But I wanted my Saturday morning breakfast. Also, I knew they were only going through crime scene photographs, which should mean Sherlock was safe. Unless Lestrade strangled him, of course.

Mycroft had sat across from me, eying my eggs and bacon and beans with either disdain or longing, but I didn’t care enough to figure out which. As usual, he did not dissemble, but got straight to the point. “Has Sherlock told you about the snipers?” was what he said and my world tipped over.

The story that Mycroft related that morning stunned me. Why hadn’t Sherlock ever told me exactly why he jumped from Barts’ roof?

Why hadn’t I ever asked?

Of course, I did not say anything to Sherlock about what Mycroft had told me. That would have been too simple. It was also too frightening. Once I knew the whole truth, I would have to do something. _Say_ something.

_Does it count if I were only trying to save my own particular part of the  
world?_

It was getting colder and we were the only pedestrians in sight now. By silent agreement, we turned our steps back towards Baker Street and home. The stars seemed frozen overhead and it made me think of the two of us, frozen in place as well. I glanced at Sherlock walking beside me and had a sudden image of him sitting in some dark and lonely place on the other side of the world, imagining that the stars he saw were also over London. Over his part of the world.

There were things I wanted to say. There were always things that I wanted to say to the man whose arm bumped mine occasionally as we walked. Neither of us moved away and as stupid as it sounds, that simple fact helped me to realise that the right time to speak was coming soon.

For now, though, all I said was, “Tea, I think, when we get home.”

I glanced at him and saw the soft smile. “Tea,” he agreed.

**


End file.
